It’s like the world cracked open under my feet the moment I saw his face.

Rafe didn’t even speak. He just looked at me — looked through me — holding those photos like they were knives, each one sharper than the last. Me. That guy. Last summer. My dress. That stupid, twisted smile I wore while I was trying to forget the one person who never once gave up on me. Rafe.

I still remember that night. The yelling. The storm in his eyes. My anger. The tequila. The way I wanted to hurt myself but ended up hurting him instead. I was out of my mind — but not enough to forget what I did. I just buried it. Hid it in silence. Lied when he asked. Lied again when he cried.

I told him there was no one else. And then I curled up in his arms like I deserved his love.

Every time he whispered, “You’re all I need,” my heart cracked a little more. I hated myself. I still do. I can’t look in the mirror without flinching. My reflection feels like a stranger. Guilt doesn’t just eat me alive — it lives inside me. It is me now.

He noticed. He always noticed. My shaking hands. My red eyes. The way I flinched when he touched me like I was gold, when I knew I was rusted through. But he loved me anyway. God, that’s the worst part.

I told myself if I never said it, maybe it didn’t happen. But now it’s too loud to ignore.

He didn’t scream when he found out. He just stepped back — like I was poison. Like he finally saw the truth I’ve been hiding behind all this fake innocence. And I deserved that. Every ounce of it. Because I killed something good. We were good.

I never stopped loving him. But I broke him. And now I don’t know how to live with that.

Rafe knows what I did last summer. And now, so do I.